Although I Am Love touches on the absurd, its camera work being a bit bizarre and its musical score more than a bit jarring--especially given the interludes of silence with which the initial scenes of Milanese elegance slowly unfold-- this Italian film, which I saw yesterday and can't quite forget, is visually stunning, especially in its portrayal of a grief-stricken family. Their faces haunt me. This is especially true of Tilda Swinton, the star and co-producer of this ambitious, highly-charged study of sensuousness and sensuality that could only come out of Italy.
(This is my contribution to this week's assignment for my prose style workshop in which I asked students to create an elaborate sentence. I thought I should do one, too.)